


A Trend You Can't Sweat Out

by Holy_Leonards



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Crack, Fisting, Goth - Freeform, M/M, Prep fetish, Secret Identities, post goth gothphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 18:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6577906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holy_Leonards/pseuds/Holy_Leonards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sole Survivor encounters a goth guy with a strange fetish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Trend You Can't Sweat Out

**Author's Note:**

> Another collab with the same unamed fella. Honestly, they did most of the writing.

When I met him, I was... disappointed. 

As a two hundred year old, thawed Popsicle, I was hoping all the dumb fads would had died. Two centuries was a long time for a trend to go on. 

Yet, here he was. 

His lips, painted black with soot and oil. His office stunk of clove cigarettes, and he was dressed head-to-toe in black fishnets. Yes, even his hat was fishnet. He was blasting a midi version of Love Will Tear Us Apart by Joy Division. 

The music stopped. He stopped being a cliché to quote Poe. In effect, being a cliché some more.

Quoth the raven: WHAT A FUCKING GOTH!

“Was that... Poe?”

“He hates the world, and so do I.”

“So does everyone else...”

“NO! JUST ME!”

“Listen here, you elitist douche, I can hate the world and so can everyone else.”

The depressbot starter to walk towards me, fists clenched. Luckily, some exposed robotics in his knee hooked onto his fishnet pants and tripped him hard.

“Damn! It will take weeks to get that out! I am so SAD.”

My formerly-blackened heart twinged at his misery. As a former goth, I could totally feel his pain. 

“Hey, listen, pal -” 

“The name's Nick DarcValentine Dementia Raven Way”

“Okay, Nick DarcValentine Dementia Raven Way.” I see you named yourself. “Well, I need your help.”

“There's no help in this dark world.” 

“So, I'd been frozen for the last few centuries, and the other day my wife was shot dead, and my son stolen.” 

“That's brutal.” He paused. “Wait... did you say you were from before the bombs dropped?” 

I hesitated, wondering what this rogoth was up to. “Yes,” I finally answered. 

“Do you have any vintage gothic stuff?” 

“... Yes.”

I took him back to my house in Sanctuary. Maybe if I buttered up Poppy Z. Brite over here, he'd actually be of some use. 

“Wow!” He said, as he saw my Gerard Way shrine. “Ahem, I mean – that's cool,” he corrected himself, wiping the smile off his face. 

 

He was rummaging through the safe when he came to the...incriminating photo.

“WHAT!?”

He threw it to the ground.

“THIS ISN'T GOTH!”

I stepped over and took a look at the photo. It was Nicole Richie.

“Shit, sorry, I really don't know how that ended up there.”

“You prep! You poseur! How dare you even acknowledge Neck-Hole Richie's existence?”

“Neck-Hole what?”

“Neck-Hole Richie. The preppiest prep this side of prepington.”

This guy was losing it. He continues, “Why do you even have their picture In your house?”

Good question. I looked over the gold picture frame. On the photograph itself, pink, dried lipgloss marks. Written in gold sharpie: 'ily, bitch.' The message accompanied with a phone number. 

My stomach dropped. My wife had been cheating on me with Nicole Richie!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick DarcValentine Dementia Raven Way noticed the kissprints the same moment I did. “You've been kissing it too. Sick prep!”

“This isn't mine, it's my wife's.” 

“A likely story. Look, there's lipstick all over it” 

“I don't wear lipstick.”

“Then you're still a total poseur!” 

“Listen, Nick. Can you be sympathetic for two seconds. I just found out my wife has been cheating on me with Nicole -”   
“Neck-Hole.” 

“Neck-Hole Richie,” I 'corrected' myself. 

Nick pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. He took one, painful drag and then dropped it on the floor. 

“Put that out?”

He stomped on it and then looked at it.

“Brutal. I just totally killed that thing.”

“You almost burned the house down too!”

“Would it matter? We are all going to burn down in the end, man.”

He was really starting to depress me.

“So, is Neck-Hole still around?”

“You bet my pale skin Neck-Hole is around. Brainwashing kids into being preps and amassing a great prepbot army. Makes me sick and not in a good way.”

“Let's stop Neck-Hole Richie.” If I play along, and help this emotiono, maybe, just maybe, he'll finally be helpful.

His blackened eyes widened. “You'd do that, really?” 

“Really.”

Trying to contain his happiness, he invited me back to his office to plot our course (intercourse) of action against Neck-Hole Richie. 

Once in his office, he excused himself. “I have to go fix my eyeliner.” 

As soon as the bathroom door shut, I started snooping around. The place was filled with Nu-Metal CDs and literal fucking tons of Clove cigarettes. I mean, Jesus Christ on a Bicycle! Where did he get all of them? Those aren't even legal in America, for fuck's sake! Where!? Where is he getting them!?

Finally, I found the dork's diary. It was under his mattress. Every page was about either Neck-Hole Richie, or The Mysterious Stranger. The diary was soaked with robo-cum. Ew.

“Ew!” 

Just then, I heard the doorknob jiggle. I hurried back into the mainroom. 

But it was not Nick DarcValentine Dementia Raven Way who existed the bathroom. It was a blond robot. Awfully familiar looking. 

“Hey, you look awfully familiar. Don't I know you from somewhere?” 

“No,” they stated in a nasally voice. Their grey face was caked with makeup. 

“I swear to God, you look like the kind of depressing I've seen before.”

“I have know idea what you're talking about.”

Then I figured it out. “Dammit, eureka! Nick, is that you?”

“Why do you keep calling me Nick?” an obvious erection forming. 

“The name's Neck-Hole Richie, shit bag!”

Oh god. Neck-Hole Richie isn't real. It was just Nick's twisted fantasy. The robot penis was hard and rotating slightly. 

“Nick I-”

“NECK-HOLE!”

“Uh, yeah, Neck-Hole, are you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be.”

He started walking towards the desk.

“Was it you that my wife cheated on me with?”

“That's hot.”

I was getting nowhere with him. Something dark deep inside me wanted to deck his beautiful prep face. Oh god, he is turning me back!

“My wife, Paris, did you sleep with her?” 

The robo-penis was now dripping with robo-precum. He noticed my staring. “Do you love it?” 

“Love what?” 

“It. Every second of it.” 

This robot was pissing me off. Give me a straight answer, dammit!

"Give me a straight answer, dammit!"

“I can't give you a straight answer, but I can give you a bi-curious answer.”  
I am about to punch this fuck.

"Listen, bub, I am sick of your games! Give me the answers or I'm gonna punch ya!"

"That's hot." He started to rub his penis against the desk while looking at me.

“That is it! Don't say I didn't warn you!” I clenched my fist, cocked my hand back, and punch him square in the butthole. Bam! Zoom! Straight to his Moon! “Pow! Right In the pooper,” I said, sweating. 

“That's hot,” he groaned, rubbing his dick harder against the desk. 

I retrieved my fist from the shadowy depths of his moon and booked it out of there. Neck-Hole went to the door and shouted, "Did you love it? Every second of it?" I didn't pay any attention. I just ran and ran

And ran back to Vault 111, and hopped into the freezey-pod-thing

“Goodbye, 2287,” I said as snowflakes began forming on my eyelashes. “Maybe in a few more centuries, goth will finally be deeeaaa-” 

“-AAADD! Oof!”

The pod had opened, and I fell out. I checked my Pipboy. 

The year: 2487.

What is it with this thing and two hundred years?!

“What is it with this thing and two hundred years?!”

I wandered outside. So far, so good. 

I walked back to Sanctuary. Much more populated now. I paid no mind to the people. I had more important issues: Codsworth was still there. What a smexy robot. 

“Sir! As I live and breath, is that really you? After all these years... again?” 

“Fuck yeah, Codsworth! I'm back. Hopefully for good this time.” 

“Ah, Sir. I do hope so. Things have been so dull without you. In fact, I'd been so lonely, I started listening to Secondhand Serenade.” 

My pulse felt frozen. “What did you say?”

“It's been very dull around here with you gone.” 

“Codsworth, what's that on your eyes?” 

“Oh, this? Just a little eyeliner, Sir.”

I quickly looked around. It looked like there was a mass funeral. Every single person, in all black. 

My eyes darted to my house. It had been converted to a Hot Topic. 

I dropped to my knees, and screamed, “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” 

Codsworth chimed in with a, “That is a fantastic way to rip your jeans. You really should tell the others.”


End file.
